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It's chaos. Absolute chaos in the way that Ted’s lessons sometimes are.
Absolute chaos in the way Richmond is right now too, funds tied up in some kind of strange shares acquisition as Miss Welton wrests control of her clubs from the snippy fingers of Zelda Southport.
Honestly, Ted taking over as interim head coach of the men's team while Roy and Keeley are on leave hadn't really given Alice any pause; had absolutely made sense considering his history and Richmond's inability to hire anyone at the moment.
Her stepping up as head coach of the women's team made sense too, even before Miss Welton had approached her, genuinely apologetic and almost pleading as she pitched her on the idea of staying on, promising proper compensation once funds were free, promising her the support staff of her choice the very moment she was able, and just generally begging and begging and begging as if Alice would ever actually say no (okay, maybe there had been a point when she definitely would have declined but after promotion and swallowing her own pride to court Gemma Jay of all people and losing Mae and tying her own heartstrings into the fabric of this team; well, she was well past that point anyway).
Alice is almost 99% sure it’s Beard, torn between his codependent attachment to Ted and his newfound attachment to the women's team, indecision ping ponging him between training sessions, who actually led to Ted's decision to host joint practice once a week; still, when Ted insisted that the men's team and women's team could learn some things from each other, Alice thought, right; that's true, objectively speaking. Learning things is important.
They could also learn things from pilots. Or doctors. Or astronauts. Or from anyone, really.
But she has learned to trust Ted’s instinct on these things so when learning some things from each other somehow turns into a mixed scrimmage that has the twins and McAdoo as a strangely in-sync back 3 against an oddly compelling strike partnership of Dani Rojas and Gemma Jay, with Lizzie and Jan Maas as the most direct centreback pairing Alice has ever witnessed, well, she just shrugs and lets it happen.
She's a spectator, truly; the scrimmage becoming uncoachable the moment the whistle blows.
It’s a mess; the players are not quite used to each other, not quite gelling, the men are playing with too much physicality, like they have something to prove, and the women are playing too carefully, like they have something to prove, and she thinks if the lesson is that the world is full of idiots then quite right: lesson learned.
But all of a sudden, Dani slips in a through ball that splits McAdoo and Niamh, and of course Gemma, carefully onside and waiting, finds the ball at her feet, ‘megs Siobhan on her way to goal and, in the most Gemma fashion possible, dinks in a cheeky little backheel that seems to roll in slow motion, slipping just beneath Zoreaux’s outstretched glove for a magnificent goal.
All 22 players stop, looking between each other for a moment in stunned silence. Then Dani shouts, “man or woman, football is life!”
And, just like that, bib colours aside, everyone erupts in celebration.
Honestly, it's stupid. So fucking stupid. Up there with some of the stupidest things Alice has ever witnessed. Yet, it instantly reminds her of football as a kid; reminds her of her childhood; of those boots her dad saved for months to get her for Christmas; of after school in her neighbourhood, all the kids on her estate, boys and girls, just kicking it about with a raggedy leather ball and a goal net hastily chalked onto a brick wall, all unconcerned about getting hurt, unbothered by their differences and unburdened by the weight of the world.
Which, okay, fine. Fair play to Ted again; lesson learned by her as well and by every player out there who, she’s sure, no matter their background, has similar memories. She's sure that's exactly what they're remembering as they embrace Gemma in celebration.
It's kind of perfect actually. The kind of memory she wants to hang onto, so she doesn’t really think about it when she pulls out her phone from her pocket and takes a picture.
It's blurry, the moment caught in the middle of the goal celebration. She blinks at it and can just about make out Gemma at the centre of it all —Margy, on the opposite team high-fiving her, Sam Obisanya, also on the opposing team, clapping a congratulatory hand on her shoulder.
It’s so blurry.
She considers deleting it. But a recent late night wine fuelled purge of old pictures on her phone —a casual date night here and there; that trip to the beach in Brighton, a hand clasped in hers; that holiday in Spain, so many pictures of that holiday in Spain (though she kept all of the ones at the Bernabéu for El Clásico since she was alone for that part anyway since someone had decided to lounge around the hotel instead of take part in one of the greatest sporting spectacles on Earth)— has left her storage gaping. And this picture, blurriness aside, is nice; is warm. She looks at it and instantly recalls that backheel, instantly remembers how after the ball crossed the line, and everyone was still looking at each other in surprise, Gemma had immediately looked to her on the touchline, charmingly smug, before being almost bowled over in celebration.
So, yeah; Alice keeps the photo. For posterity or whatever. And, if she's really, really honest with herself, she keeps it because it being the most recent photo in her camera roll makes the loss of all those other pictures feel almost bearable.
The invitation to the World Sevens tournament comes out of nowhere. Alice's instinct is to decline, obviously, because the season is looming after all and she doesn't want to risk injury for something that ultimately means nothing, but Miss Welton, still on her ‘sorry, I almost got the club stolen right from beneath me’ apology tour, promises an all-expenses paid trip to Los Angeles for all travelling members, including Lizzie’s boys, and the team immediately look to her, varying degrees of pleading on their faces.
She relents, because, of course she does.
She knows she's made the right choice when the team bus pulls up to the tarmac and everyone immediately starts gawping at the plane awaiting them.
She gathers them outside Miss Welton's private jet for a team photo, taking one —and only one, despite all the grumbles— of them huddled together.
She's slipping the phone back into her pocket when something nags at her, Roy's text to her last night feeling almost pointed as he mentioned how much Keeley misses the team.
She quickly opens her messages with Keeley, the last message between them from months ago when Keeley had asked if she could sit in on practice to get some shots for a promo video and Alice had responded with a single thumbs up. It feels unnecessarily brisk now, because while she and Keeley aren't friends by any means and Alice had definitely spent a lot of time avoiding Keeley in the hallways, she kind of feels the loss of her presence at the facility keenly since she's been on leave; definitely misses how loud her support for the team felt.
She attaches the picture to a text before she can psych herself out, fingers hovering above the screen's keyboard as she thinks of what to say.
On the way to LA, she types.
She quickly deletes it.
Far too formal.
Wish you were here, she tries again.
Nope. She erases that too. Sounds too much like a postcard.
“Hope you got my good side,” she hears from in front of her, eyes still glued to her phone.
Gemma.
Of course it’s Gemma.
She doesn't need to look to know it’s Gemma.
“Impossible not to,” she replies, instant, truthful, too distracted by the task at hand to have any guile.
The team sends their love, she types quickly.
Yep. That's fine. She hits send before she can overthink it; then, quickly pockets her phone before she can really really overthink it.
She looks up and finds Gemma still in front of her, eyebrows furrowed with this soft sort of surprise.
“What?” she asks, worried she’s missed something.
“No, it’s nothing,” Gemma says, shaking her head, smiling softly. “Are you getting on this plane or not? The team were thinking up some plays for this tournament and they've designated me liaison or something to run them by you.”
“So, they want me to say no then?” Alice jokes.
“Funny,” Gemma deadpans.
“To be honest, I was actually thinking we just see how it goes,” Alice admits sheepishly.
“Wait,” Gemma stops. "You want to go with the flow?” she asks, looking at her like maybe she’s grown a new head or something.
“I-” Alice pauses; in effect, that's exactly the plan but it sounds so careless when Gemma puts it like that. “I just don't want to put pressure on the team when this is something that's meant to be a bit of fun,” she rephrases. “Besides, no offside rule so you’ll probably bag a hat-trick a match,” she adds candidly, shrugging casually. “I’m not worried.”
Gemma looks so taken aback that Alice can’t help but laugh.
“What? Don’t think you can?” she teases.
“Well, obviously, I can,” Gemma insists, and there it is, that fire that honestly makes a hat-trick each match seem like the bare minimum. “And I will.”
“Right, no problem then,” Alice says, sincere, as she goes ahead onto the plane.
She hears as Gemma trails behind her and honestly, she doesn't know why she doesn't expect it by now, but she is definitely surprised when Gemma clears her throat, attracting the attention of the team; definitely gawks in disbelief when Gemma announces:
“Alice said all your ideas are shit by the way!”
“NO,” Alice rebuts loudly. “I did not say that,” she defends, shooting Gemma a glare. “What I did say was that I don’t want you lot to overthink this. You’re all great footballers, so, let's just get out there, show off some skill and have some fun.”
That receives a few cheers, but not from Gemma who looks at her expectantly.
“And?” Gemma presses, teasingly.
Alice instantly knows what she wants; contemplates not giving it to her for a second.
“And,” she sighs, instantly capitulating instead. “Let Gemma do what she does best: score goals.”
Gemma grins.
“Oi,” Lizzie complains. “Don't make her head any bigger than it already is, Gaff', or it’ll topple the plane,” she jokes.
“Wait, can that happen?” Niamh immediately asks.
“Let’s get a team picture inside the plane this time,” Alice insists, stopping them in their tracks before the ribbing begins and they become impossible to tame.
They don't win the tournament. They lose in the final, in fact, and that might have bothered Alice in the past; might have given her a few restless nights plagued with what they could have done better —what she could have done better— but those insecurities die before they can take root, because the team leave the stadium buzzing.
All in all, it was a good trip. They played some good football —that combination of Shannon dribbling in tight spaces and Gemma cutting inside from the wing is definitely something she’s excited to explore over the season; they also unexpectedly bonded even more than Alice thought possible considering their already considerable lack of boundaries —LA traffic is brutal and of course they spent the time getting from point A to point B grilling Alice about her break up and the future of her dating life because why wouldn't they; they even all got more acquainted with Lizzie’s eldest son, Sean, who Alice, despite not being particularly good with kids, likes a lot, even though he did almost make her meet an untimely death in America of all place when he shuffled up beside her while the team were celebrating their Semi-final win, his mum and Boots at the centre of the celebration, and casually inquired about the rates of homosexuality in women’s football as if she were some expert on the subject, before not so casually inquiring if she thought his mum might be a bit gay as well —honestly the only thing that had spared her that untimely death was her not having to stutter through an answer to that question since he quickly came to the conclusion all on his own that he wouldn't care if his mum were kinda gay anyway since homophobia is cringe.
So, yeah, great trip, great football, her faith in the future of humanity restored and all that.
And, honestly, she doesn't even know how it happened but by the time she gets home, she realises she's got 32 new pictures —pictures of the twins strangely fascinated by the physicality of the Los Angeles Chargers game that Ted had insisted they must go to before they had even left London; pictures of Boots saving shots from Archie and Sean at the exact same time during warm ups; pictures of Margy and Mady looking as cozy as they had the very first time they announced in practice that they were officially dating; pictures of Gemma playfully biting her Golden Boot medal; pictures of Gemma clinking said medal against Shannon’s Breakthrough Player medal; and so on, and so on, and so on.
So many pictures.
She should delete some, that bar of her storage still low, but still glaring at her ominously when she checks her settings.
She’s sure some of the photos are duplicates. She's sure some are eerily similar, taken perhaps seconds apart.
She could delete a few.
Instead, she goes back to her home screen.
She deletes none.
“So we've all got to be there by 9. Okay?” she hears Siobhan saying in the background but she’s honestly not really paying attention, too busy trying to find room to stick the new note someone just handed her.
'And sack the QB.'
Whatever that means.
She finds space at the very edge of the wall, clapping her hands as she manages to make it stick.
“You too, Coach,” Niamh says once Alice is back on solid ground, turning to find most of the team looking at her expectantly.
“Sorry, what?” she asks, confused.
“The club. At 9,” Margy reiterates.
Alice frowns, more confused than ever.
“Siobhan and Niamh’s cousin is getting us into that new swanky club that just opened in Brent,” Mady explains. “So, be there at 9.”
“Oh,” Alice exhales, weirdly touched by the invite, but also, no, she’s definitely not doing that. That sounds fucking awful; an image of her in a dimly lit room standing stiffly beside the dance floor already coming to mind. “Yeah, no. Hard no. Sorry, guys. Not my sort of scene.”
“Come on, Coach,” Shannon complains.
“It’s team bonding. You have to come,” Lizzie insists.
“I prefer the team bonding that happens on the pitch when you lot win matches, not whatever this is,” Alice shrugs, stupidly thinking that will settle the matter.
The team exchange glances, the kind that makes Alice immediately suspicious that they are up to something.
“Gemma?” Lizzie unexpectedly calls out, strangely still looking at Alice, although Alice's eyes immediately find the woman in question, sitting quietly on the bench on her phone, eyes studiously fixed to her screen, clearly very purposefully ignoring everyone around her.
“Gem!” Niamh calls this time, more pointed, but Gemma still doesn't budge; doesn't even look up.
Alice wonders if she declined the invite too or something, which is strange, because some swanky nightclub actually seems like it would definitely be her scene.
“Gemma, Gemma, Gemma,” the team starts chanting in earnest, clearly goading her into something, though Alice can't figure out for the life of her what it is.
She does see the exact moment Gemma's resolve crumbles, shoulders hunching slightly as she sighs.
She locks her phone and glances up, not at her teammates who are emphatically egging her on, but at Alice.
Right at Alice.
Her expression immediately softens, shifts to something familiar; shifts to something audacious and teasing.
“Alice,” she says her name slowly, deliberately curling around the syllables, and the changing room goes strangely quiet around them, the team holding their breaths, watching the moment of their making unfold like any sudden movement might interrupt it.
Alice still isn't sure what it is exactly; isn't sure what this is supposed to be; all she knows is that Gemma's pointed gaze has her pinned; has her held on a knife's edge, waiting for her next move.
Gemma's lips curl into a smirk that feels dangerous.
“Please,” she pleads, shameless.
And oh.
Oh.
OH!
That's-okay.
Wow.
It's just a word. Obviously just a word. Still, Alice’s stomach gives a traitorous little lurch.
Gemma steadily holds her gaze; doesn't look away, and Alice doesn't —can't— either.
“They’re just gonna make me do it again until you cave,” Gemma presses. “So if you care about my dignity, even a little bit, you'd say yes.”
Alice swallows hard; doesn't say anything at all; honestly still a bit stunned that the team seems to think that would work on her; even more stunned that it’s clearly a discussion they've had, that that discussion somehow resulted in a conclusion that it had to come from Gemma.
“Alice,” Gemma says again, voice dropping low in warning. Her bottom lip juts in a pout like she’s definitely gonna try again — like she’s definitely gonna try harder this time.
Alice absolutely does not want that, something strange and stagnant already stirring heavy in the pit of her stomach. It's not nerves exactly, but something deep and aching, like longing.
Like wanting.
Oh, fuck.
They might actually be onto something here.
“Fine,” Alice stops her before she can get out her next plea, eyes rolling to the ceiling before she can think something stupid and definitely before she can do something stupider. “But only for like an hour.”
The team erupts in celebration, already moving onto discussing outfits and ride-sharing options, but Alice’s gaze remains on Gemma, her smug little smile making the noise around them seem distant.
“An hour,” Alice repeats, to Gemma and Gemma alone. “I mean it.”
“Yeah, okay,” Gemma agrees, smirking like she doesn’t really believe her at all.
It’s been 2 hours and Alice was totally right, this place is absolutely not her scene. The drinks are all ridiculously expensive with even more ridiculous sounding names; the music is awfully repetitive and headache inducing; the lighting is purposefully hazy and poor.
It is terrible.
But, the team are having fun.
The twins are surprisingly in-sync, united over torturing their cousin who the team have dubbed the ‘third twin’; Lizzie seems like she really needed a night out, the stress Alice has watched building upon her lately —that has honestly made Alice consider benching her in recent matches, weary of it all boiling over into a red card— has suddenly evaporated as she sips on a fluorescent coloured martini, laughing casually with Boots; Margy and Mady are dancing close, definitely edging into weeks without a breakup recently, and Gemma…
Alice has lost track of Gemma, which is a surprise because she had been carefully watching her all night, kind of hard to miss in that sleek black dress that made Alice have to double take when she first saw her.
She is genuinely surprised when Gemma suddenly flops down into the booth beside her, heaving a dramatic sigh.
“What happened?” Alice asks, weary; honestly not sure whether Gemma’s managed to pick a fight with someone, that trivia night still looming in her mind.
“Phone died,” Gemma explains, simply; makes it sound like it’s the absolute worst thing in the world.
Alice laughs.
“What, you didn’t take enough pictures?” she asks, amused. Gemma has seemed to make herself an unofficial team photographer since the night began; the last time Alice had seen her, before she had lost track, had been when she was talking selfies with Shannon by the bar.
Gemma only pouts at her, nose scrunched adorably like she absolutely won’t accept any teasing over this absolute tragedy.
Alice rolls her eyes, and, because apparently she’s somehow found herself wrapped tightly around the striker’s finger, she slides her own phone across the table between them.
“Here, use mine,” she offers.
Gemma glances down at the phone and then at Alice, brow furrowed, curiously.
“You sure?” she asks, quietly, like Alice has somehow offered her keys to the moon, not her measly out-of-date iPhone.
Alice rolls her eyes, tugging on Gemma’s wrist to place the phone square in her palm; hands it over without hesitation.
Alice, perhaps unsurprisingly, loses track of her again after that.
She’s outside, maybe an hour later, getting some fresh air when Gemma finally catches up to her again, settling next to her where she's leaning against the club's brick exterior.
“Hey,” she greets, softly, handing Alice her phone back.
Curiously, Alice opens her photos, eyes widening in disbelief when she swipes up a few times and finds herself still looking at pictures definitely taken tonight.
“Jesus, Gem!”
"You can delete them after you send them to me,” Gemma suggests easily.
“Yeah, okay,” Alice agrees, watching carefully as Gemma closes her eyes and sags further against the wall.
She’s tired.
Definitely tired.
Alice knows by now what tired looks like on her since she’s taken to falling asleep on her shoulder on the bus after away matches lately. Alice has been quietly snapping pictures each time, definitely storing them to poke fun at her when the time is right.
“I don't know how much use I’m gonna be at practice tomorrow,” Gemma suddenly groans. “I am dead on my feet.”
“What was that?” Alice teases. “Did you say you want to run the bleep test in practice tomorrow?”
“Alice, I will actually die,” Gemma whines, tilting her head to look at her. She looks so soft against the dimming lights of a waning night; softer still amidst the loudly drunk patrons slowly pouring out of the club. “I told them all you said bye already by the way,” she mentions, casually. “When you slipped out, I figured you were at your limit.”
That’s actually really nice. She was kind of dreading going back in there, but she didn't want to leave unannounced either.
“Thanks,” she says, genuinely touched.
“Yeah, of course,” Gemma replies with a shrug, like it was nothing.
“You heading home too?” Alice asks.
“Mmhmm, just waiting on my ride,” Gemma affirms, bracing a stiletto-ed heel against the brick wall, clearly very tipsy; and fuck, maybe those drinks were so expensive because they were really strong because Alice only had 2, but she's definitely feeling them now what with the way her eyes very dangerously dip to the slither of thigh the slit in Gemma’s dress reveals with her movement.
She is very gratefully saved from the dangers of her own mind when she spots a very posh and very familiar car pulling up just behind Gemma.
“Gem?” She can’t hide the amusement in her voice. “Did you call your mum to pick you up?”
Gemma winces, clearly already halfway into regretting that decision.
“I’m making good choices?” she says, like she’s trying to convince herself, as her mum rolls to stop just behind them, her window rolling down immediately.
“Hi Alice, love,” Bunny calls, “Do you need a ride as well?”
Alice can’t help but chuckle at Gemma’s obvious mortification, eyes closing in a sharp wince.
“No, I’m all right, thank you, Bunny,” she replies, her hand hovering just in case as Gemma eases off the wall. “This one looks like she may collapse if she doesn't get to bed immediately,” she notes with amusement.
“I have the perfect remedy for a night out,” Bunny promises. “She’ll be right as rain for training tomorrow. Don’t you worry.”
“I have no doubt about it,” Alice affirms, smiling warmly at Gemma’s mum as she follows Gemma to the car.
It has been kind of heartwarming, honestly, watching that progress since Gemma’s injury —watching Gemma’s mum slowly come around to the idea of her daughter playing football for a living. She and Bunny had sort of had a little heart-to-heart in the waiting room as Gemma got her final MRI that cleared her for training; Alice had tried to hold her tongue but eventually had just crumbled, telling Bunny just how good of a striker Gemma is, praising her love for the game, insisting that if football is an example —she didn't have to but she still came back— then Gemma clearly wouldn’t give up on law school entirely either because she’s clearly just not the type to give up on things no matter how long they take. Curiously, Bunny had looked at her with a strangely perceptive gaze that made Alice feel like she was missing something —something obvious, something right in front of her face— and said, “you know, she’s been impatient since she was a baby, always wanted everything right away, but when it’s something important to her, when it's something she really, really wants, she’ll wait forever if she has to.”
Alice thinks back to that moment often, desperate to parse the hidden meaning that keeps evading her. That heart-to-heart (honestly, just Alice anxiously blabbering) had ended with Alice offering a standing invite to the friends and family supporters’ section which Bunny has taken her up on often enough now. Gemma always has that embarrassed little grimace on her face when she notices her mum in the crowd, but Alice always sees her eyes searching for her after she scores; sees how she always seems just a bit prouder of herself, and that’s nice; Alice would definitely risk dying of embarrassment and few more riddles she may never solve just for that.
“Have a good night, Bunny,” Alice bids, opening the passenger door for Gemma to get in.
“Text me when you get home?” she checks, once Gemma is settled in the passenger seat.
“I will,” Gemma promises; tugs on the sleeve of Alice’s dress shirt before she can close the door. “Send me the pictures, okay?” she reminds her.
“Mmhmm.”
“I mean it, Alice,” she warns. “All of them.”
“I will,” Alice promises.
And she does; sends them one by one instead of in a batch too, curious about the progression of Gemma’s night.
There’s loads of pictures of the twins on the dancefloor, some of Margy and Mady dancing close, a hilarious progression of Lizzie throwing back shots, Boots hovering protectively nearby, and a few of Shannon silently judging the shenanigans. When she gets to the end, she notices that Gemma had taken a picture of her too, from a distance, clearly zoomed in, but she's smiling softly in it, probably judging the shenanigans as well if she's honest.
The next picture is a duplicate of that one, a hastily drawn pink heart surrounding her.
She laughs, considers deleting that one. But she promised, so she sends it too.
She doesn’t end up deleting any of them.
She can’t say she’s expecting it when Gemma texts her at 3 in the afternoon on a Wednesday, asking, on a scale from 1 to 10, how good she is with a screwdriver.
Alice stares at the message for about 3 long minutes, contemplating her answer, when another text arrives; this time a picture of a bunch of screws scattered all over Gemma’s living room floor and what looks like several pieces of wood to assemble what Alice assumes is a table.
When Alice arrives at Gemma’s maybe 15 minutes later, Gemma already looks frazzled, definitely like she’s gone 3 rounds with IKEA and IKEA has her on the ropes.
It is indeed a table, Gemma’s old one having met an untimely demise by way of failed TikTok challenge with the twins apparently.
The new one actually doesn’t look all that hard to assemble and Alice immediately gets to work, the job only complicated by Gemma’s insistence on helping.
After only 2 minutes of Gemma “helping” (hovering, a much more adequate word) Alice relegates her to table leg duty which should be an easy enough task —consists of only screwing the legs into the wood slots— but it is instantly not difficult to understand why Gemma had called in the cavalry.
Gemma looks so concentrated, screwdriver held awkwardly between her thumb and finger, brow furrowed softly, tongue poking between slightly parted lips as she focuses on keeping the wood steady and trying to fasten the screws.
And honestly, it’s just hilarious; fills Alice with a teeming sort of glee knowing that she gets unfiltered access to Gemma like this; that she gets to see Gemma, who can juggle law school and a football career, who can chip a keeper from the halfway line with her eyes closed, who can recite case law like it’s burned into her synapses, so easily defeated by a Phillips and some 5x60s.
Alice can't help it —doesn't even think beyond the nagging urge to keep this moment— when she pulls out her phone and takes a picture, centering Gemma in all her clumsy glory perfectly in the frame.
She probably should have checked her volume first though because the sound her phone camera makes gives her away instantly and Gemma looks up at her immediately, eyes narrowing.
“If you send that to anyone on the team, I’ll have you know that I spent most of my time at law school planning a very solid murder defence so I don't think I’ll be doing much time,” she threatens.
Alice just laughs, Gemma’s soft embarrassment somehow completely easing her embarrassment at being caught.
“So, that’s a no on posting it on Richmond’s official socials then?” she teases.
Gemma huffs.
“If I wanted the team to know how inept I am with a tool, I would have just called Boots and this would have been done already,” she insists.
She knows what she’s doing. Alice knows she knows. It's written all over her face, the blatant provocation; and still, Alice raises to the bait regardless.
“Wow,” she gasps in offense. “Okay, I would have definitely finished it already too if you weren't-” she stops short.
Gemma raises an eyebrow at her, challenge already issued.
“If I weren't what?”
“So,” Alice shakes her head; sorting through her words. “Distracting,” she settles on. Which is a good word. A safe word. Because there are some stupid words that rattle around her brain; very, very stupid ones, like so devastatingly beautiful that that sometimes it's hard to fucking breathe.
“Oh, I’m distracting you?” Gemma asks, and maybe it’s a not so safe word after all because Alice can see the mischief brewing and she briefly wonders just how long Gemma had been working on the table before she gave in a texted her because she knows Gemma; definitely knows that the more restless she is, the more daring she becomes.
“Gemma,” she warns, stern.
It’s no use.
It’s never any use with her.
One well timed nudge with her knee and the side table Alice had been using to store the A, B and C screws wobbles, the screws she had meticulously sorted before starting on the assembly mixing into one big jumble.
Honestly, they're so wildly varying in size that sorting them hadn't even been necessary, still:
“Very mature, Gem,” she groans. “You’ve just added at least an hour to the assembly time.”
10 minutes at most in reality, but she's entitled to a little hyperbole when Gemma’s being an arse.
“Oh no,” Gemma says, the furthest thing from apologetic; she quickly gives up on her attempt to screw the table legs entirely. “Guess I better go order food then,” she offers instead. “Can’t have you doing so much labour on an empty stomach.”
Alice rolls her eyes, chuffed to be rid of her for the time being.
Gemma busying herself with ordering food does thankfully distract her from distracting Alice, certainly helped by the fact that the twins start messaging her too, separately, which is always worse, so by the time the food actually arrives, they are able to eat it at Gemma's newly and perfectly assembled dining table.
And obviously, it's her own hard work that she's proud of when she inevitably ends up taking another picture, this time of Gemma across from her, digging into her food.
Obviously it’s because the wood is nice or whatever.
It's a very sturdy table.
And when she realises later that the table is hardly even shown in the picture, well, whatever.
She still doesn't delete anything.
Honestly, Alice usually has a plan for everything —usually has a back-up plan for her back-ups plans— so when Gemma starts casually stopping by her place more and more often —because she apparently has no ice and Caroline said she should ice her ankle (Caroline would never send her home without everything she needs for her recovery); because Alice's WiFi is apparently faster (Instagram reels buffer in her flat so that one wasn't even close to a believable lie); because her neighbour is making so much noise that she can't even read her book in peace (she hadn't even brought said book with her so…)— Alice really should have started preparing for the possibility that Gemma would eventually spend the night, because why not, right? They're heading to the same exact place in the morning anyway…
Yet, when it finally happens —well past midnight, both of them clearly struggling to keep their eyes open— Alice is caught completely off guard by her own fucking mouth of all things when Gemma gets up to head out and she hears what sounds like her own voice and what's definitely coming from her own lips, saying, “just stay.”
Since she hadn't even thought about the invitation before it spilled from her own lips, clearly, she doesn't have a plan for anything beyond that.
She does do the honourable thing and offers up her bed since only one of them will be manhandled by American football inspired twins in the morning and it certainly isn't her, but Gemma just squints at her, brow furrowed like her brain somehow took, “take the bed, I’ll sleep on the sofa,” and translated it to, “you take the bed and I’ll jump in a rocket and go sleep on Mars” or something.
It’s hardly a big deal.
Alice has fallen asleep on her sofa plenty of times.
It’s not even uncomfortable.
“Alice,” Gemma says her name in that way she does sometimes; like a plea. “Your bed is big enough and I fall asleep on you on the bus enough that this can't be weird,” she reasons and somehow Alice’s brain must break, because instead of formulating a reasonable rebuttal, all Alice can think is: so she does know she's doing it then.
Suddenly, the collection of pictures she had been taking to confront her with as proof one day seems useless, and somehow the prospect of deleting them seems just as useless as well.
Instead of doing anything even remotely smart, Alice works on digging through her drawers to find something suitable for Gemma to sleep in instead.
Neatly folded at the very bottom of her drawer, she finds a baggy red shirt that she had bought years ago because she had found it funny.
She had honestly kind of forgot about its existence, had never even worn it, but when she pulls it out, she has a silly thought that perhaps this shirt had survived a couple of moves and many donation trips to the charity shops because it was meant for this day, for this recipient like maybe her subconscious has been leading her right here for years.
It's stupid.
She doesn't even believe in fate, but she hauls the shirt out of the drawer anyway, finds a pair of shorts to go with it and hands them to Gemma.
When Gemma finally returns from the bathroom, the shirt hanging loosely off her shoulders, the words THIS IS MY RESTING BENCH FACE in bold white text laid ridiculously across her chest, Alice is quick to snap a picture, completely unbothered by the sound of the camera shutter giving her away.
Gemma looks confused for a second, looking at her like she can’t possibly fathom why Alice would be taking a picture of her right now; like Alice really needs a reason anyway.
She does seem to realise there are words on the shirt after a moment, eyes squinting to read them upside down.
Alice can see when realisation hits her, glare turning to Alice immediately.
“Delete it,” she demands, pouting; very obviously calculating the amount of mocking she'd get from the team should Alice ever accidentally post it in the group chat.
“No way,” Alice asserts.
“Alice,” Gemma whines.
“Nope,” Alice refuses, quickly tucking her phone under her pillow and laying on it immediately.
It's a childish move.
But it works.
For 10 seconds.
And then all of a sudden, Gemma is on top of her, knees bracketing Alice’s hips, hands trying to wedge themselves beneath Alice's shoulder, close enough that Alice can feel the warmth of her through the thin shirt, close enough that she can feel Gemma’s hair brush against her cheek as Gemma tries and fails to move her.
“I’m not deleting it,” Alice insists, sounding breathless though she has barely moved; has made herself immovable for a purpose.
“Do you know what?” Gemma finally gives up, calculated as she sits up, and that's worse, definitely worse; Alice feels like all the air has left the Earth as Gemma's weight settles almost too comfortably on her abdomen, the position forcing her to look up at Gemma. And that's an image, one that Alice has a very strong and very stupid urge to take another picture of; she’s almost glad now that their positioning has her phone out of reach from even herself. “It’s fine because I have that picture of you fully engrossed in Love Island so…” Gemma spills.
“You do not!” Alice gawks.
“You’re not the only one who knows how to take a sneak picture,” Gemma shrugs.
“Prove it,” Alice challenges which finally prompts Gemma to roll off of her, which feels the worst actually because Alice suddenly feels very, very cold, like her limbs will never know warmth again if it's not Gemma’s.
Gemma retrieves her own phone, very quickly flashes her an image of what definitely looks like her on the sofa in Gemma's flat, very interested in the glow of the television screen showing none other than an episode of the latest series of Love Island.
“You delete that and I’ll delete this,” Gemma barters.
That's a hard bargain.
Finally able to retrieve her own phone from under her pillow, she unlocks it to get her first real look at the picture she had taken. It’s hilarious, absolutely, and the team would have a laugh about it, but more than that, Gemma looks so casually at home in the picture, looks so comfortable in a way that almost instantly makes Alice feel sort of at ease herself.
“Nope,” she decides, locking her phone again. “Tell the whole world I like Love Island for all I care,” she shrugs.
“Don't tempt me,” Gemma warns, settling next to Alice in her bed like she belongs. “You know I will.”
She does.
By the world, she definitely means the team. What was supposed to be a film session for their next match quickly dissolving into an interrogation of who her favourite Love Island couple is all the while Gemma smirks at her from the corner.
It's worth it though, because, looking at the picture again, she knows she wouldn't let go of it for anything.
“Come on, Coach,” Shannon calls, “Team photo!”
The team look great all dolled up for the end of the season celebration Miss Welton has put on.
Honestly, an old iteration of Alice may have lamented a 4th place finish, may not have even shown up to celebrate it, but, it’s their first year up top, and more than that, against all odds, their attendance numbers have slowly been increasing which is a win in itself so she hadn't really hesitated when she called Gemma asking for suggestions on what to wear; didn't even think about it when Gemma insisted they coordinate.
She grabs her phone, stepping back to take a photo of the team before they head into the building to no doubt get very drunk.
“Hey,” Lizzie stops her before she can take the picture. “With you in it, obviously,” she insists, tugging on the sleeve of her blazer to pull her in front of them.
“Can't let that very dapper suit go to waste,” Siobhan teases.
“Selfie, come on. Use those long arms for something,” Margy insists.
Alice flips to the front-facing camera, steadying her grip to get them all in the frame.
She feels more than she sees as someone shoves Gemma forward and she’s quick to use her free hand to catch her by the waist, righting her at the exact same time that Gemma settles herself with her fingers around Alice’s arm.
She doesn't let go.
Alice doesn't either.
There's no reason to really.
“Okay, ready?” she asks the team —her team.
“Yep.”
“Go.”
She looks at the screen; makes sure everyone is in frame, everyone is smiling, the impending picture pretty much perfect as she taps the screen and—
Fuck.
The dreaded message:
iPhone storage full.
You do not have enough storage to take more photos.
Niamh laughs.
Shannon groans.
“Oh no,” Mady chuckles, “which of the thousands of pictures of Gemma are you gonna delete?” she pokes fun.
That, Alice absolutely does not dignify with a response.
None, obviously.
Absolutely none.
“Here, let me get mine,” Gemma offers, pulling away to retrieve her own phone, but Alice grips her tighter; keeps her close.
“No, don't worry, I got it,” she insists, clicking through the prompted instructions, accepting the iCloud+ subscription without hesitation.
It’s the oddest celebration of corporate greed Alice has ever seen, the team cheering like they’ve won the league or something when she hits accept.
She does little more than roll her eyes at them, almost too used to their shenanigans by now.
“Do you lot want to take this photo or not?” she asks, which finally prompts them to settle back down, smiling happily as she gets them all back in frame.
Her finger hovers over the button and just as she makes contact, Gemma leans in closer, the warmth of her lips landing soft against Alice’s cheek.
Alice startles, phone jogging in her hand.
The photo is absolute chaos. No stabilizer in the world is great enough to disguise the shake of Alice’s hand so it's definitely blurry; Lizzie's smile is smug, Niamh's jaw is practically to the floor in shock, Siobhan is doubled over in laughter, Boots looks almost bored like she knew it was going to happen all along; Shannon's eyebrows are raised.
It's actually sort of perfect.
The team don't even nag her to do a retake, all immediately off and bickering about who won which bet.
“I think that's a keeper,” Gemma murmurs, gazing at the picture from over her shoulder.
She hasn't actually deleted a single photo since her break up purge way back when and she knows Gemma knows that.
“Definitely,” she agrees anyway. “But let's take another one for good measure?” she suggests.
She definitely drops the phone this time when Gemma's kiss lands right on her lips.
That's okay.
She was due for an upgrade anyway.
The end.